Linda-three-ways. From this past weekend. It was hardly sunnier, but certainly warmer and the easy-going slowness and laziness of the weekend were much more enjoyable than the life-draining dullness that work has become in the last two days.
Where there is boredom, however, there is also camaraderie. Saw Lenny tonight and girl sucks at keeping in touch but she's also one of the easiest people for me to laugh with, especially now that she's eating meat again (her vegetarian conversion was the topic of my college essay)- she even ate a hot dog last week! And tomorrow, I walk through the sharp streets of Boston with a bona fide bleeder. Two dinners with two of my favorite people in one week. And I haven't even begun preparing my stomach for the Brazilian BBQ on Saturday- meeting friends outside of college sure is pricey, but boy is it also tasty.
One last note: if any of you are athletes, take heed, you do not want to play for Wentworth. Waiting for the T tonight, I had the chance to catch a bit of a soccer game. I witnessed a player get injured and walk to the sidelines with a trainer-type person. The injured player sat down while the trainer tended to a little black pack. He struggled with opening the pack a full three minutes before giving up and leaving to search through a bigger black bag for first aid materials. All this while, the player waited visible discomfort. At first I thought that the player couldn't have been seriously injured for him to have to wait so long. But after a few more minutes of scrambling and struggling, I saw the trainer finally put some gloves on (that seemed the trickiest task after bag-opening- two things they don't teach you in first aid), search some more, then tend to the player's wounds- on his head. Remember kids, if you're ever hurt at Wentworth, you'd be better off dragging your bloody self a couple of miles down the road to any number of world-class hospitals- especially since chances are, you'll probably end up there anyway.
One last note: if any of you are athletes, take heed, you do not want to play for Wentworth. Waiting for the T tonight, I had the chance to catch a bit of a soccer game. I witnessed a player get injured and walk to the sidelines with a trainer-type person. The injured player sat down while the trainer tended to a little black pack. He struggled with opening the pack a full three minutes before giving up and leaving to search through a bigger black bag for first aid materials. All this while, the player waited visible discomfort. At first I thought that the player couldn't have been seriously injured for him to have to wait so long. But after a few more minutes of scrambling and struggling, I saw the trainer finally put some gloves on (that seemed the trickiest task after bag-opening- two things they don't teach you in first aid), search some more, then tend to the player's wounds- on his head. Remember kids, if you're ever hurt at Wentworth, you'd be better off dragging your bloody self a couple of miles down the road to any number of world-class hospitals- especially since chances are, you'll probably end up there anyway.
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